


Danganronpa Neo : Sink Into Despair

by pinklapiin



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Fanganronpa, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Spoilers, except his students are stuck in a killing game, fanmade killing game, makoto is headmaster fuck yeah, part of a series, possible canon cameos idk yet, set after canon, set after the original games, whoops, whoops i like killing off my ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklapiin/pseuds/pinklapiin
Summary: When the Ultimate Scammer, Agata Shiroari, arrived at Hope's Peak Academy, he thought his entire life was ahead of him. However, due to an unfortunate turn, he soon found himself trapped in a killing game. Will Agata find out the truth behind this game, or will he fall to the hands of despair?(Originally posted on Quotev.)
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

A pleasantly warm breeze ran through the air. The cherry blossom trees were already in bloom, their petals dancing from the trees and creating a carpet over the ground. It was a magnificent sight, holding a certain air of elegance to it. Through the rose-colored lenses of my sunglasses, the color was significantly dulled, however -- overpowered by the bright shades of pink. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets , attempting to swallow the lump in my throat .

_ Hope’s Peak Academy.  _ It was the sort of place that everyone at my old school liked to talk about. Some people said the world’s most talented people went here before going on to become the greatest in their fields . All the greatest scientists , artists , athletes , and politicians had gone here at some point before rising quickly in their industries .

Others said that it was just a sham -- a way for Japan’s wealthiest to hand off their money to a practically invisible school board. Of course , anyone with a brain could tell that was a lie. Well -- maybe for  _ some  _ people, it was a little more obvious. One could tell just from the way the talent agents had said that this was the real deal. Perhaps it was my own experience that convinced me of the truth. Perhaps one of the few skills I’d gained from this life was actually paying off. 

Here I was, in front of the most esteemed school in all of Japan, and all I could do was gawk.

The building before me was  _ massive _ , a towering structure that glared down at me. Threatening me. Judging me.  _ You're worthy now ,  _ it said.  _ But what about next year , or the year after that ? Will you stay an Ultimate , or will someone better than you come along and replace you ?  _

Just within the boundaries of the gates, students were walking about the commons. A group of girls, all dressed in the same brown uniform, passed me. They giggled, whispered something about “cute little” first years. Two teenage boys -- probably first-years like me -- were standing under a tree. One of them, a red-headed dude wearing sweatpants and a striped t-shirt, was grinning elfishly at the other boy, whose hair was a shocking shade of purple. Compared to both of them, I was significantly overdressed. I was wearing my usual outfit: a red button-up shirt, a black vest, slacks, and a black overcoat. For once, I actually looked pretty good _. _

__ The more I looked around, the more it sunk in.  _ I had made it into an elite school.  _ Not just any school -- Hope’s Peak Academy. Students from all across Japan were crawling all over each other to get into this place, for crying out loud. A sense of accomplishment filled my core; I puffed out my chest proudly, repeating the mantra I’d created for myself. 

_ One step. _

__ I attempted a wide, confident grin. 

_Just one more step._

__ I placed my hands on my hips. 

_ All it takes . . . is one -- _

__ “Gaaaaauuuugh , I  _ can't _ !” 

My hands slid down my face -- I moaned, turning away from the silver gates. My glasses slid down my nose; I didn't bother pushing them back up, instead beginning my own internal debate. 

How could I step in there?! The place was  _ way _ too astute for me to even look at it for so long! I paced the petal-lined sidewalk, grumbling under my breath; as if to add insult to the injury, a few students passing by weaved their way past, casting furtive looks in my direction. 

_ Come on, Agata! Man up already!  _ I internally screamed.  _ It's just a gate! It's not gonna, like, hop out and go “boo, I gotcha!” Just go in there and show this school what you're made of! _

_ But it's so  _ _ hard _ _ ,  _ another part of me moaned.  _ And my leg is  _ _ tired _ _ . . . hey, maybe we can just call it a day. We saw the school, it looks nice, time for some yakisoba.  _

_ Oh no you don't, me!  _ I stopped myself from turning around, digging my heels into the ground.  _ We are going  _ _ in _ _ , we’re walking  _ _ through that gate _ _ , and we’re gonna like it — _

_ Wait.  _

__ I’d taken a single step through the threshold. My body suddenly felt heavy, as if a weight had landed upon it. 

_ What?  _

__ The sidewalk had been swallowed whole; as soon as I looked down, the weight on my body grew heavier. My body was sinking slowly into the darkness. 

The more I moved, the worse it got. I flailed, helplessly, as the shadows dragged me down, into the dark abyss. 

I don't know when, but eventually, I stopped struggling.  _ This can’t be happening,  _ I kept saying, over and over. But somehow I knew it was. Whatever reality I’d been in just a minute go had disappeared, and all I could do was  _ sink _ . 

And so I floated. I floated deeper and deeper into a sea of black, a deep rumbling rising all around me. My arm was still outstretched, reaching for something,  _ anything,  _ but it was no use. Hope’s Peak Academy, where everyone hoped to attend one day, had dissolved before my very eyes. 

The school was gone. My dream. . .  _ gone _ . All that was left is a small black dot, drifting further and further away from me. 

If I could go back and change anything, I likely wouldn't have gone through that gate so soon. No -- I’m sure, had I just waited five more minutes pass, everything that was about to unfold likely never would have happened. However, by the time I was sinking into that shadowy abyss, my fate had long since been sealed. Every decision I’d made, every step I’d taken, had all led up to that fateful day. Deep down, I knew there was no going back. I’d already sunk to the depths of despair without even realizing it; and all I had to do was take that one little step. 

All I could think as I fell was one thing:

_ I was so close.  _


	2. Chapter One

_“Wake up.”_

_“Uggghhhh . . . “_

_“Come on, up and at ‘em, Shiroari.”_

_“Nnndonwanna.”_

A blur of color swam into my vision, scrambling and shifting about; I could make out a massive clump of white with two gems on top. _Rubies, perhaps?_ I wondered, trying to lift my arm. 

Nothing happened. The giant blob said something -- since when do massive blobs talk? -- before moving a massive, soft appendage to lower my arm back down. Stubbornly, I tried to lift my arm again. The blob chuckled, pushing my hand down.

“Easy there, Shiroari. Whatever you were drugged with, it was pretty potent.”

The dots spotting my vision began to fade, making way for a thin, gaunt face. A tall boy with dyed white hair stood over my body, poking my cheek repeatedly. A pair of black framed glasses sat, slightly crooked, on his nose, and he wore a trailing, patterned yukata. On that yukata, a name tag was stitched onto it.

_Eio Anabuki,_ it read. _Super High School Level Hypnotist._

“There we go.” A hint of pity was reflected in his magenta eyes; he took me by the hand, hoisting me up. Countless bandages were wrapped around his arms. “Pīkan will be happy about this.”

“ _Pecan_? Like the nut?”

“ _Easy_!” Eio said again; I’d stumbled out of the bed I was laying in, falling into his arms. “No, no, _Pīkan_. He woke up all angry--almost kicked down the door of his cabin, Shiroari--if it weren’t for Kimura and Shiraishi--”

“Hold on.” I pushed myself away from Anabuki. Held up a single hand. “Cabin? Pecans? _Drugs_?! Slow down . . . how do you even know my name?”

A muscle in Eio’s forehead twitched. Still smiling, he pointed down at my chest.

Just like him, I was wearing a name tag. It had been stitched neatly to my black jacket, with my name embroidered onto it. 

_Agata Shiroari. Super High School Level Scammer._

 _Well, there goes pretending I’m the Ultimate Salesman,_ I lamented, knitting my fingers together. I’d come up with such an elaborate plan the night before, deciding I’d trick everyone into thinking I was the Super High School Level Salesman. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t out of ill will or anything -- it’s just difficult to make friends if people know that your talent revolves around lying to everyone you meet. That didn’t mean I couldn’t work with this. It would all be fine in the end, all I had to do was put on my best smile, go out there, and give it my all.

With Eio’s help, I was able to stagger out of the room. The setting was rocking back and forth; it took me a moment to get steady.

“I think we’re on some kind of boat, “ Eio told me, hoisting me up. 

“Boat?” I muttered woozily. What the hell did he mean, _boat_? I pressed a hand to my throbbing forehead, a groan escaping my lips. _Dammit . . ._ That nightmare I’d had still didn’t leave my head. The school disappearing from my grasp, the shadows dragging me down, it all felt so . . . _real_.

Eio was guiding me into an open space--a sort of cafeteria. A small group of people were seated in various chairs. I recognized the two boys from earlier--they sat next to each other, discussing something in hushed tones. The one on the left--a purple-haired fellow--was gesturing particularly wildly as he spoke. He was wearing the same loose purple sweater I’d seen him in before -- upon closer inspection, I could notice that the ends of the sleeves were frayed. On top of his head, a pair of goggles bobbed back and forth. 

The other guy--the redhead--wore a sleepy grin as his friend whisper-shouted. Occasionally, he would nod or say “yeah”, sinking further into the plastic chair he was lounging in. He was dressed casually, in a matching jacket and sweatpants; a knit white beanie sat on his head.

“Ah, Shiraishi!” Eio rushed to greet the duo with open arms; the purple-haired boy looked up. 

“Eiiiooooo! Dude, it took you long enough!” he shouted. He was at least half a foot shorter than the Ultimate Hypnotist, but the way he bounced on the balls of his feet cut the height difference in two. He waved eagerly at the other, rushing ahead to meet him. He caught sight of me. “Who’s this guy?”

“This is Agata Shiroari,” Eio said brightly. 

“Shiroari . . . ?” he repeated, opening his mouth in a wide “o”. “Whoa, you look like a freakin’ mobster! What’s your Ultimate--ohhh.” His eyes had drifted down towards my name tag. “Scammer, huh? That’s pretty neat! Just don’t scam _me_ , okay?” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Me? I’m Ryuu Shiraishi, the Ultimate Medium!”

“Oh, are we doing introductions now?” Before I could open my mouth, a smooth, calm voice cut through the conversation. The other boy, whose shoulder-length hair was a vibrant shade of red, had leaned forward, pursing his lips together. 

“Hell freakin’ yeah, we are!” For a medium, Ryuu was a little _loud_. He pumped his fist enthusiastically, gritting his teeth together , before aiming his index finger at the seated boy. “That chill motherheffer over there is Kuuto Chikamiya, the Ultimate Modern Dancer!”

“‘Sup.” 

“Ah--nice to meet you, Kuuto.” I offered a hand to him for a handshake.

Kuuto gave me a high-five. “Yeah. Same, dude,” he said, offering me a lopsided grin. “Nice shades.”

“Oh, uh. . . “ I removed my sunglasses, a smile finding its way to my face. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no probs. Hey, Ryuu,” the boy addressed stopped in his tracks. During Kuuto’s brief interaction with me, he'd gone over to the blender. 

“Yeah, man?”

“You making a protein shake?”

Ryuu shrugged, tossing a dollop of protein powder in. “Course. There might be some ghostly sailors on here, they probably haven't flexed their muscles in _forever.”_

The redhead shook his head, a fond smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, guess so. Can you tell me if you find any? We could have, like, another session with them.”

“Session?” I piped up; I almost wish I hadn't. Ryuu turned his head towards me, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face. 

“ _Dude_.”

Beside me, Eio still didn't move. He had his hands clasped in front of him, humming absentmindedly.

Ryuu charged towards me like a rhino, his eyes filled with determination. A rush of terror ran through me; I froze in my place, trembling, but Ryuu had already locked onto me. 

I was dead. I was so, so dead. 

Ryuu violently slammed his hands onto my shoulders. His goggles had slipped back onto his face, giving him an alien look. 

A feeble noise escaped my lips. Later on, Eio would tell me that it was rather akin to a mouse squeaking in terror. 

He met my eyes. 

Then, Ryuu said; “You should totally join us! You’re the Ultimate Scammer, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah?”

Never in my life had I seen such an enthusiastic reaction. Ryuu pulled me down to his height so we were only about three inches away. In a hushed voice, he continued: “Can you scam the ghosts into doing thirty push-ups?”

“Uhhhhhhhhh . . . “

“And slap a piece of salami on their faces?”

“What?”

“I’m saying this because one of the ghosts called me a ‘piece of shit on a rug that’s never been vacuumed in a hundred years’.”

“Not cool,” Kuuto chimed in. 

“I just wanna get revenge, man.”

“Um -- “

“See, if you do this, I’ll give you my prized dumbbell.”

I was pretty sure I didn't want Ryuu’s prized dumbbell. 

“So, can you do it?”

“This . . . This is a lot to process.” I took a few steps back. Ryuu followed me, grinning wildly. 

“ _Can you_?”

“I mean--” My shoulders hunched. What else could I say to get this guy off my back? “--Probably.”

This seemed to be enough of an answer for Ryuu. He let go of me, a terrifying gleam in his eyes. “Kuuto?”

“Yeah, man?” Kuuto asked. He had opened a can of soda during this interaction and was now occasionally sipping from it. 

“We got our third dude.”

“I can see that, man.” Kuuto tilted his head. “We’re having a ghost hunt at seven. Wanna come?”

_A what?_ I was no skeptic, but I was pretty sure that the last thing I wanted to do after waking up on a boat in the middle of God-knows-where was go on a ghost hunt with a couple of dudes I’d never met. Still, I was a top-tier liar. I felt my lips form a sentence, the exact opposite sentence that I wanted to say:

“Sure, why not?” 

Ryuu’s grin widened. He yanked me forward, this time pulling me into a hug. “Omigod, thank you so much, dude! It's gonna be so cool--”

“He's got some popcorn ready to appease the ghosts,” Kuuto cut in. When he saw my confused look, he elaborated: “Ryuu says they love popcorn.”

“Why popcorn?” I asked, cocking my brow. “If they're sailors, I would've thought they'd like . . . I dunno . . . seafood or something.”

“That's a question even I can't answer, friendo!” Ryuu puffed out his cheeks. “Ghosts just _really_ like popcorn!”

“For some reason,” I finished his sentence. That was an . . . _interesting_ fact. Still, there was one thing I couldn't shake. Both of these guys didn't seem all that concerned about their situation. Maybe they just weren't the sharpest tools in the shed -- I exhaled a sigh, looking between them. 

“No ifs, ands, or buts.” 

“It’ll be _so_ worth it, I promise!”

“All right, let’s not crowd him.” Eio placed a hand on my shoulder; how could he keep smiling the entire time? I was sure that his face had somehow gotten stuck in that expression at some point in his life. “Shiroari, you look like you need a walk. Do you?”

“A bit,” I admitted. 

“Good!” The Ultimate Hypnotist steered me out of the cafeteria, tossing his head. “Sorry, boys, he just now woke up, he's a little out of it.”

“Ohhhh,” I could hear Kuuto and Ryuu say in unison. 

“Yeah. Poor guy.” Eio patted my shoulder gently. I could sense my face getting hot from embarrassment. “He was the last to wake up, too. It takes a bit of time to--”

“Trust me, I know.” Kuuto pushed his hair back. “Go get some air, ‘kay, Shiroari?”

I nodded, trying my damndest not to kick Eio in the shin. 

“‘Kay,” Kuuto said again. He slumped back in his chair. “See you later. And Eio?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you see if the others wrapped up their investigation yet?”

“Of course.”

And with that, Eio guided me out of the room. I was still blushing furiously. For a while we just walked through the endless halls; out of boredom, I started counting the doors that we passed.

“Cabins, probably,” Eio had chimed in when he noticed my gaze.

He was probably right. Each of them had nameplates with pixelated photos of everyone tacked onto it. From what I counted, we passed by sixteen in total. 

“So there's sixteen of us?” I questioned, releasing myself from Eio’s support. 

“Correctamundo.”

“Isn't that number bad luck? Because of what happened forty years ago?”

Eio detected the fear in my tone. He shook his head, inclined his shoulders in a shrug. 

“Agata. I’m sure it doesn't mean that.”

“But the _parallels_ \--”

“I’m aware of them.”

For the next two minutes, all that could be heard were our footsteps. The corridor Eio guided me through was narrow, the metal walls caged around us. Occasionally I’d find a security camera hanging from the ceiling; its lense focused on me when I walked past, watching my every move. A chill ran down my back. The cameras made me feel naked. Exposed.

Still, Eio kept walking. If he noticed the security cameras, he didn’t bother to react to them. A part of me thought he was kind of _cool_ to be able to completely ignore them like that. Eio’s yukata swished, side to side, as he walked. I observed him for a moment, noticed how confidently he strode through the corridor. While I darted behind him, occasionally checking over my shoulder to make sure nobody was following, Eio simply walked on through, humming a tune. 

_Maybe he just grew up in this sort of environment,_ I guessed. He navigated this boat as if it was his natural habitat, wandering the corridors effortlessly. It could've been some sort of front he put on too, a way of saying he wasn't as scared as any normal person would be. Still -- the more time I spent with Eio, the more I realized how unusual he truly was. 

Despite how he initially looked, I could notice some subtleties in Eio’s appearance; small snippets of the person before me that painted a better picture. His ears had at least five piercings in them each: and when I looked closely, I could see that the roots of his hair were black.

“So,” I said when the silence became unbearable. “Ultimate Hypnotist, huh? What motivated you to take that path?”

Eio inclined his shoulders into a shrug. “I was always intrigued by psychology,” he said, holding his hands together behind his back. “Do you know the iceberg theory?”

“Um--” I narrowed my eyes. “I’ve heard of it before.”

“The iceberg theory,” Eio began, adjusting his glasses. “suggests that the human mind is like an iceberg. There’s the conscious, subconscious, and the id.” He ticked each one off with his fingers. 

“Right.”

“With hypnotism, you try to shut off the conscious to get to the person’s _subconscious_. Sometimes you can even reach the id.” Eio stopped in his place, turning on his heel to look at me. “You know what the ‘id’ is, right?”

“Not really.”

“Hmmm.” Eio tapped his chin. “I’m not sure how to word it . . . imagine being stripped of your morals and your personal reality so only your instincts remain.”

I shivered. For someone to live without any of their morals was a terrifying image. 

“Your deepest, darkest instincts,” Eio said. He was studying me closely, his expression unreadable. “What do you think yours are, Shiroari?”

“I--” I tried to answer, but I faltered. As strange as this guy was, he brought up a point. What _were_ my deepest, darkest instincts? What would happen if the morals I held close to me were stripped away? Finally, I had no choice but to surrender; I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “--I have no idea.”

“Well, of course you don't.” Eio chuckled. “Your id is held back by your subconscious, you know. Without that in your psyche, the results would be unpredictable.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“What?”

“Unlocked someone's id, I mean.”

Eio shrugged again. “A couple times.” 

“What was it like?” I asked in spite of myself. 

Eio fell silent. He looked down, brushing a few stray strands of hair from his face. “If I’m honest, Shiroari,” he stated. “I don't really . . . like to talk about it.”

“Oh . . .”

“Yeah. It’s nothing personal, really, just . . . “ The white-haired boy in front of me toyed with his bandages. “It wasn’t the best moment in my life.”

“Ah, uh . . . sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Eio’s voice wavered. He turned away from me, regained his composure. “Anyways, you must be hungry. Are you hungry, Shiroari?”

That phrase struck a chord with me. I hadn’t thought of it much while I was chatting with Ryuu and Kuuto earlier, but there was no ignoring the pit in my stomach. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in _ages._ I swallowed, pressing a hand to my stomach. 

Eio’s default smile returned. “I figured. Come on, maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll have missed Pīkan.”

“Pecan?”

“No, no, _Pīkan._ He’s -- “ Eio pinched the bridge of his nose. Inhaled. Exhaled. “ -- He seems to be a tad difficult. I told you earlier, he nearly kicked in his door -- “

“What the -- how can you even achieve something like that?” I asked, my mouth gaping wide open. “Is he the Ultimate Wrestler or something?”

“Worse.” Eio bristled. “He’s the Ultimate Food Critic.”

“Huh? What's wrong with that?”

The hypnotist shot me a grave look. “Trust me, Agata. Hell hath no fury like an angry food critic.”

“Um . . . noted.”

We walked over to a door located at the end of the corridor. Eio went first, checking the door. With bated breath, I waited.

“He’s probably hanging out in here,” he whispered. “I heard him mention making an ‘inspection’ a while back. I just hope he’s done with it -- “ 

“Who’s done with what?”

A nasally voice cut Eio short; slowly, we both turned around, meeting the eyes of a rather annoyed-looking teenager. I figured he had to be only a few centimeters shorter than me -- still, it was hard to tell. He was wearing a massive, round, black hat, which fit snugly around his head. The hat was adorned on either side with felt bat-shaped wings. Of course, this wasn't the only odd thing about this guy. He was still wearing his uniform from whatever school he'd last attended. Tufts of dark brown hair fell over his face, and his skin was a ghastly pale color.

While Ryuu let off an intense aura in one way, this guy was completely the opposite. His purple shadowed eyes held an intense glare, his expression grim. In his left hand, I noted, he held a pen, which he continually clicked throughout this interaction. 

The boy glared up at us, folding his arms over his chest. “Can you move out of the way? I've got a kitchen to investigate.”

My eyes fell into his chest. I should've predicted it earlier -- his name ( _Chūhei Pīkan, Super High School Level Food Critic)_ was neatly stitched into the collar of his shirt. 

Chūhei clearly was in no mood to wait for an answer; he pushed right through Eio and I, an irritated expression on his face. He muttered something to himself, then chewed on his thumb. 

“Uhhh, I’m just gonna . . . go now.” I took a few steps away from Chūhei, my hand drifting to the doorknob. 

“Wait.”

The food critic held up his hand, beckoning for me to join him; I stopped right in my tracks. What could Chūhei possibly want from me? Did he have some business with me?

Chūhei scoffed. “Jeez, you look like a deer in the headlights, uh -- “ His eyes moved down to my nametag. “Shiro . . . Shiroari? Like the bug?”

I was silent. Chūhei rolled his eyes at me. 

“Okay. Fine. Don't say anything. I’m gonna call you ‘Termite’ from now on.” He adjusted his hat over his head. “Because of your name.” 

“Yeah, a lot of my friends call me that,” I squeaked. Chūhei shook his head, pulling a pen from his back pocket. 

“Mind giving me a hand, Termite? This kitchen is gonna take _forever_ if I tackle it alone.”

“I mean -- “ My shoulders hunched. What exactly was I supposed to do? This guy was kind of scary . . . 

“Look, you don't have to if you don't want to.”

“No, I want to!” My voice came out at least three octaves higher than normal. “Eio can help too, right, Eio?”

I turned around, attempting to ask Eio for help --

Eio had already disappeared. The Ultimate Hypnotist had ran for the hills as soon as Chūhei’s back was turned, leaving me alone with the food critic. From behind me, Chūhei clicked his tongue. 

“Yeesh, what’s wrong with Milkhead?” he muttered. 

I didn't know Eio very well, but something told me that he wouldn't take kindly to being called a “milkhead”. 

“He's probably a little shy --”

“Bullshit.” Chūhei cut in through my words, his nose scrunching up. “Listen, you don't have to defend him. He ran off. Didn't want to talk to me, I get it. You two know each other or something?”

“Not really,” I admitted, rubbing my arm. 

“Hmph.” A look of disapproval crossed Chūhei’s face. “Listen, bud, I barely know you. But take a word of advice -- don't get cozy with anyone just yet.” He took a small notebook and pen from his pocket. Chūhei walked into the kitchen, casting an inquisitive look at the nearest fruit basket. “Everyone here is too _casual._ It's like they’re all denying the situation they're in.”

Something in that sentence hit me harder than a broomstick; I pressed my hand to my chest and swallowed. 

“What do you mean?”

Chūhei tossed a banana at me. I fumbled with it, just barely catching it. 

“Toss that. It's starting to rot,” he commanded. I obliged, throwing the old banana into the nearest trash can. “Aren't we supposed to be at a _school_? Because I was under the impression that I got accepted to Hope’s Peak Academy. Instead -- you've got to be joking -- “ He'd just found a half-eaten apple. With the skill and precision of a basketball star, Chūhei tossed it into the trash can. “ -- _Instead_ I’m on a boat in the middle of -- “

“--God knows where.” I said this at the same time Chūhei had. “Yeahhhh . . . it _is_ a little fishy.”

“ _Speaking of fish -- “_ The food critic had marched over to the fridge. “ -- If we’re stuck here, that's probably all we’re gonna eat for a while. Do we have any Ultimate Chefs or Ultimate Cooks or whatever on board?”

“Dunno. I’ve only met two other people other than Eio.”

“Hmph. Are their talents any good?”

“Er . . . will the Ultimate Modern Dancer and the Ultimate Medium be helpful?”

“Only if this place is haunted,” Chūhei snickered, opening the fridge. 

“Maybe there are ghost sailors,” I blurted out, recalling what Ryuu had mentioned earlier. 

“Ghost . . . . what?”

The pause that followed felt like nearly an eternity. Chūhei was looking at me as if I had just escaped an insane asylum, his expression becoming gradually more mortified at the idea of “ghost sailors”. 

“Uh, you okay, man?” I asked. Chūhei gaped at me.

_I think I broke him,_ I thought, taking a few steps away. I didn’t want to be there when he eventually exploded from confusion. Chūhei turned back to the fridge, raised his brows, and spoke. 

“Okay.”

He began rifling through piles and piles of fish, occasionally stopping to take a note. 

The rest of our search was in silence. Chūhei said nothing as we worked besides pulling something out, scribbling in his notebook, before repeating the process. Occasionally I’d try to break the silence -- “Hey, Chūhei, where should I put this?”, “You good?”, or “Please say something, this is really getting awkward” -- but it was all to no avail.

After ten minutes, Chūhei stopped, grunted, and wiped his hands. “There we go. We’ve confirmed a few things.”

“A few things, huh? What are those?” I asked. 

“Well, for starters,” The Ultimate Food Critic rapped his fist against the notebook. “Whoever put us here left us with a large supply of food.” 

I suddenly felt like throwing up. Everything I’d noticed earlier had started to come back to me -- the security cameras, the number of people here . . . this couldn’t be a coincidence. 

“Termite?”

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was happening. 

“Termite!” Chūhei snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Hey! I asked you five times if you were okay!” 

“Oh . . . sorry.” My voice came out distant, distracted. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Chūhei smacked me on the side with his notebook. “Don’t scare me like that! I thought you were having a panic attack!”

“Ow!” I rubbed my arm. “ _Dude_! I just wanted to ask you something!”

“Really.” The brunette raised a brow. “What is it?”

Here it was, the million-yen question. I met Chūhei’s eyes, hoping to whoever the hell was watching that I didn’t look scared.

“How much food would you say’s in here?”

“Total?” Chūhei blinked. “God, I dunno . . . maybe enough to feed . . . “ His eyes widened. “ _No._ Are you saying . . . ?”

“What else could it be?”

“I dunno! Anything but that?” 

“But it seems too -- “

“Unlikely. I know.”

Almost as if in sync, Chūhei and I looked at the monitor above us. In the history books we’d read when we were kids, we were told that an animatronic bear would pop up. He would taunt the students he’d managed to capture, tell them to meet somewhere, and then reveal the killing game he had set up. We hoped that it wouldn’t turn on, that that wide-toothed Build-A-Bear reject wouldn’t pop up and announce his intentions. 

The screen remained black. Chūhei nudged me, nodded in the direction of the door. “Come on. This is freaking me out.”

“Yeah . . . same here.”

We turned around, making our way out to the corridor. In some strange way, I felt glad that we were leaving the kitchen; that interaction had been _way_ too awkward for its own good. 

As we walked through the halls, we chatted. We discussed the situation we were in, the people we’d met. Chūhei had a few choice words to say about the cuisine in the kitchen -- without really listening, I just nodded along, watching the food critic make wild gestures as he described a particularly disgusting dish he’d eaten a few weeks ago. 

For a moment, everything seemed fine. Peaceful, even. 

But there was no stopping the click of the monitor turning on. 

_When I was in junior high, my teacher had described the events of the Tragedy. My classmates and I had listened with bated breath as she told us about Hope’s Peak, Junko Enoshima, and the killing games that had torn our world apart._

“What? What’s happening?” 

I’d nudged Chūhei’s shoulder; he turned around, his jaw dropping to the floor. 

_She told us of Monokuma, the Mascot of Despair -- I always got scared at that part -- a terrifying, half-white, half-black creature with a single glowing red eye. He'd leered at the camera, preparing to swipe a clawed paw at whoever was taking the photo --_

He was on the screen. 

The temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees. My knees buckled just at the sight of him -- he was just as the teachers had described. If I’d never paid attention in history, I would've thought of him as _cute._ Now, I felt on the verge of throwing up. I was frozen in place as the bear waited. He had his paws clasped primly in his lap. 

“A-hem.”

He had a high voice, like nails scratching on a chalkboard. Beside me, I could hear Chūhei sputtering incoherently. 

“Welcome, students of Hope’s Peak Academy, to the S.S. Aeschylus! I am Monokuma, and I will be your captain during this voyage! Please get your bright, smiling faces over to the Underwater Lounge for a special announcement!”

Chūhei had gone pale. His eyes were wide, body shaking from head to toe. He was likely thinking the same thing I was -- this had to be some sort of practical joke, there was no _way_ something like this was actually happening. 

I knew exactly what was coming as soon as I’d seen the little bastard’s face -- as long as I knew this, I didn't even want it to be real. But what other choice did I have but to go?

I couldn't leave this ship. I didn't even have any idea where I was or how I’d get out of here. No, there was only one option -- navigate this place, find the lounge, and hope to god that this was some devious student’s idea of a prank. 

That’s right . . . . _hope._ If I just held onto that, everything would be okay, right? 

I stopped in front of the lounge. Its door was ornately decorated with carvings of mermaids. Mermaids playing in the water. Mermaids, pressing their ears to conch shells. Mermaids lounging lazily on the shore, watching the ride roll in and out. 

As stupid as I later thought it was, those carvings gave me a temporary solace from what was waiting beyond that door. For a moment, I felt like I was just attending a meet-and-greet with all of my new classmates. We’d laugh. Share a few jokes. Maybe I’d learn something unexpected about one of them, or relate to another classmate in a way I hadn’t thought I would. 

The thought of it comforted me just enough to put on a smile. I straightened up, adjusted my necktie. Chūhei shot me a skeptical look. 

“What are you doing?”

“Acting,” I said, popping my collar.

“Oh. Well -- no offense, but you look kind of dumb.”

“Do I?” The words came out naturally; I attempted to give Chūhei a winning smile. 

He didn’t smile back. 

“Look, if you’re done acting like a weirdo, let’s go in.”

“Wait, together?”

“ _Yeah_ , you got a problem with that?” 

I was about to tell Chūhei how much I preferred to be alone -- however, something in his expression caught me off-guard. Was it fear? Nervousness? The same kind of thing I was stubbornly trying to push back? 

I’d only known Chūhei for half an hour at the most, and he looked like he needed some guidance. He wouldn’t stop pacing, fidgeting with his collar, occasionally muttering to himself. 

“No.” 

I placed my hand on the doorknob. 

“No, of course not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count : 4876
> 
> Pages : 13.9


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agata is introduced to his classmates...and learns about the deadly situation he's been in.

By the time Chūhei and I had walked in, a small group of students had already gathered. Some of them were lounging on the chairs, a few sat on the floor, one of them was even pacing the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ryuu and Kuuto talking amongst each other. Ryuu especially looked distressed, hugging his knees to his chest as Kuuto patted his head. 

Eio was standing alone in a corner, a grave expression on his face. His arms were folded over each other as he stared vacantly ahead, but he stayed still otherwise. 

The girl who was pacing caught sight of us -- she was dressed in a loose blue crop top, sweatpants, and sneakers, strands of brown-and-blonde hair falling in front of her face. As she got closer and closer, I began to recognize her. This girl was a household name in Japan -- Momoko Kimura, or the “Female Flash”, as some called her. I could briefly recall watching her win a track and field championship a few years back; her name had been in the papers for two weeks. 

It really was no surprise to see “Super High School Level Track Star” embroidered onto her shirt. 

She went right for Chūhei, picking him up into a massive bear hug. I could see Chūhei’s eyes widening more than they already had -- he awkwardly patted her back, a blank stare finding its way to his face.

“Oh my god, don’t scare me like that!” she exclaimed. “You took forever, are you okay?”

“Don't be dramatic.” The food critic wriggled out of Momoko’s arms. “I’m still alive, am I?”

“That doesn’t ensure your safety,'' Momoko shot back. She shook her head, placed her hands on her hips. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought she was a mother scolding her son for his behavior. “Jeez, you really are reckless, Pikan . . . . you could’ve broken your poor foot kicking down that door.”

Chūhei looked rather embarrassed with himself. He turned away, muttering an expletive-laced apology under his breath. 

“ _Language_ ,” Momoko said warningly. “Who’s this guy?”

Her attention suddenly turned to me. I couldn’t help but feel small in comparison to Momoko . Sure, she was six foot four and more muscular than Chūhei and I combined -- but what really made me feel like I was six again was the aura she gave off. 

“Don’t worry about him, Momoko,” Eio piped up. “That’s Agata, he’s the Ultimate Scammer.”

“ _Scammer_?” A purple-haired girl piped up. She was seated regally on the sofa, her manicured hands draped over it.“What makes you think he can be trusted?”

“He’s not . . . . hiding his Ultimate.” A quiet voice cut through the girl’s words; it took me a moment, but eventually I found them -- a curly-haired fellow dressed in a massive sweater. 

The purple-haired girl scoffed, leaning forward. Her green eyes drilled into me. I tried to focus my gaze anywhere else from her, but there was no point. This girls’s stare carved all the way through me and into my very core. “ _Really_. And what about that makes him any more trustworthy?”

“Well -- I mean -- “ The teenager shrunk further into their seat. They were hugging a potted plant close to their chest. “ I--I don’t mean that it _does_ , I just -- “

“Wait, then why should we trust him?” a boy with neatly-brushed strawberry blonde hair piped up. “He’s a scammer! Scammers . . . “ He hesitated with his words, trying to figure out what to spit out. “ . . . scam people!”

“Shit, really?” I muttered. “I didn’t know.”

“Ugh.” The purple-haired girl narrowed her eyes. “I did _not_ wake up at the crack of dawn to deal with a lowly scammer.”

“Lowly?!” I repeated, incredulously. 

“Did I stutter?” She scoffed. “I was under the impression that I’d be with the most _elite_ students. Not some half-witted, slimy man who'd sell me a car for a cheap price!”

“Really? And just what is your definition of ‘elite’, huh?” the strawberry blonde boy demanded. 

The girl puffed out her chest proudly. “I am the Ultimate Fashion Historian. And just what are _you?”_ she shot at the curly-haired boy. 

“Ultimate Mycologist,” the curly-haired boy stuttered out. “I-It’s a type of scientist that studies fungi--”

“Ew!” One of the girls, a green-haired chick in a letterman’s jacket, scampered away from him. “Did you wash your hands before you got in here?”

“Yeah, I--of course I did,” the Ultimate Mycologist said defensively. 

“Yeah, _sure_ you did,” the strawberry blonde male scowled. 

“Everyone, please calm down!” The girl next to him, whose hair was the exact same color, used her arm to block him from me. “Leon, Eiji had a point about the Ultimate Scammer.”

“That doesn’t mean we should trust him -- “

“I-I think that we can,” Eiji insisted. 

“Can you just _shut up_?” Leon snapped. Eiji sunk back into his seat, clinging onto the plant. 

“ _Leon_ ,” the girl said again, this time with a bit more force. She turned back to me, giving me a sympathetic look. “Sorry about him . . . . he’s been a little tense -- “

“Have not,” Leon grumbled. 

“--Have too.” The way the girl said this was almost routine, as if she'd done this a few times before. She readjusted her hair ribbon, a thoughtful look finding its way to her face. “If . . . uh -- “ She quickly referenced the nametag on my chest. “ -- Agata? That's how you say it, right?”

“Yeah, it is.”

The girl nodded. “Right . . . if Agata wanted to lie about his talent, he could've done that already. Besides,” She gestured towards Leon. “Whoever put these nametags on us made sure our real talents were there.”

“Wha--” Leon had quickly consulted the label on him. Out of some form of curiosity, I checked it as well. 

_Leon Honda. Super High School Level Hacker._

“Oh _no_!” Leon yelped; he untied the scarf around his neck, making an effort to hide the nametag. “No, no, _no_! Yui, this is bad, this is really bad--tell them I’m the Ultimate Yoga Instructor, come on--”

“Well, at least you're not alone!” Yui chided. “I _told_ you it wouldn't work anyways, you're too all over the place to teach yoga!”

Leon looked dejected by this. He muttered an awkward apology to me, slunk down into the nearest chair. 

Some sort of morbid curiosity caused me to look directly at Leon. His name sounded vaguely familiar, perhaps someone I’d read about in history class. 

“Leon . . .” 

“Huh?” The Ultimate Hacker glowered up at me. His lip curled. “Whaddaya want?”

_Shit._ I raised my arms in defense, preparing for anything he could throw at me. 

“Sorry. I was just wondering--”

“ _Jesus_ , spit it out.”

“Your name--”

“Yeah?” Leon gave me a challenging look. “What about it?”

“Uh--I don't mean to sound rude, but it’s the same name as--”

“Hey, Agata,” Yui interrupted. “Want me to read your fortune?”

“Uhhh,” My attention turned to Yui; she was holding out two decks of cards. “I mean--”

“Do you want me to read your fortune?” The second time, she said it through gritted teeth. 

I may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but hell, I knew when to take a hint. I nodded, slunk away from a glowering Leon. 

“What's up with him?” I muttered, picking the first deck I could touch. 

Yui smiled thinly, drawing it out from underneath me. “He doesn't like to talk about it. His namesake’s kind of a touchy subject, if you catch my drift.”

I swallowed, vaguely remembering seeing a name on a list of victims. “Victims of Junko Enoshima,” it had read, listing them all in order of their deaths. 

“Isn't it bad luck?” I inquired. Yui cut the deck I’d chosen into four quarters; I picked another one of them. “Naming your kids after the ones who died?”

“Maybe in the region you're from,” Yui shrugged, holding the deck out. “Pick three -- where our family’s from, naming your kid after an Ultimate makes them one themselves.”

“Where _you're_ from?” I paused, my hand hovering over the cards. “What kind of place thinks like that?”

Yui shrugged again. “Towa City.”

“ _Towa City?”_ My voice had gone three octaves higher just from saying it. “Isn't that the place where those kids . . . you know.” 

“Yeah, _that_ place.” She wrinkled her nose, as if the very thought brought a bad taste in her mouth. “My parents were survivors. They don't really talk about it.”

“Like, kid survivors, or--”

“I’m sorry, but,” Yui inhaled sharply. “Could you pick a card? You're kind of messing with the energy.”

“Oh.” I realized rather quickly that I’d overstepped; sheepishly, I drew three cards from the deck, laying them before her. Yui hummed, leaning forward to read then. 

“Justice reversed, the Tower, and the Nine of Swords reversed . . . “ she mused. A look of great concern had found its way to her face. She took a small notepad out, began to flip through it. “Okay. Hold on.”

“What?”

“Don't panic. Just hold on.”

“What? Is it bad?”

Yui shrugged, knitting her fingers together. “Maybe . . . depends on how you interpret it.”

“What’re you two doing?” 

Yui yelped, fumbling with her notepad.I caught it for her, handed it back. 

“Whoa, hey, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!” Momoko raised her hands in surrender, laughing awkwardly. She had finished her conversation with Chūhei, who was currently comparing notes with a blue-haired girl. “What've we got here, miss Ultimate Tarot Reader?”

“I’m doing a reading for Agata.” Yui gestured in my direction. “The problem is, I’m not sure what this could mean.”

“Hmm. Lemme see.”

Momoko took a moment to look at the spread before her. Occasionally she'd mutter something to herself. Consult Yui’s notes. When she couldn't make any more sense of the thing, she took a step back. Whistled. 

“Whew, that spread’s a doozy, Yu!” she exclaimed, pressing her fist to her lips. “What d’you think it means?”

“No clue.” Yui shrugged. “I mean -- reversed, Justice stands for -- “

“Dishonesty.”

“Dishonesty, yeah -- which makes _sense_ because he’s a scammer.”

_Oh, Jesus._

Yui had seen the look on my face. She yelped, quickly bowing to me. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m so sorry!”

“Uh, don’t worry about it.” I attempted to smile. She didn’t really mean any harm -- she’d just referred to my Ultimate. I puffed out my cheeks, deciding to pick at my sleeves. “You can, uh, go ahead.”

“Okay, if you’re sure . . . “ Yui turned her attention back to the cards. “So next we’ve got the Tower, which is . . . . “ She hissed through her teeth. “ _Ouch_.”

“Okay, what does that mean?” I asked. 

“Well --” The girl shifted in her seat. “It means unforseen change. And disaster. And -- “

_“Is everybody here?”_

The entire room fell silent; that familiar chill that had run down my spine earlier had returned. Something was tightly squeezing my arm -- I glanced down to see that Yui was clinging onto me, her eyes shut.

“That voice again!” Momoko shot up in her seat, her expression suddenly alert. She ripped her shoe off her foot, aiming in the direction of the noise.

“Stand back!” Ryuu had stood up so quickly that his chair clattered to the floor. “I’m about to give whatever S.O.B. is pranking us the beating of his life!”

“Aww, that’s not nice!” 

In any other context, the image before us would be considered comical. Cartoonish, even.The small, black-and-white bear Chūhei and I had seen on the monitor sprung up from behind a couch. He did a few backflips in midair -- beguiled, I watched. The bear landed directly on the couch, raising his stumpy arms like an Olympic athlete who’d just won a gold medal.

“Helllooooooooo, students!” he chirped. “Would you look at all these cute faces! The headmaster sure knows how to pick ‘em!”

The entire room had fallen silent. Monokuma’s wide grin never shifted -- he shook his head. 

“Now, is that a way to greet your captain? Salute me!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” A nervous-looking girl hopped onto her chair, immediately saluting the teddy bear. She had to be a little shorter than five feet, with multicolored pigtails trailing just a little past her waist. 

“One? Only one person’s gonna salute me?” Monokuma huffed. “After all this work I went through to get you here--”

“Don’t you mean ‘kidnap us’?” the violet-haired girl from before -- the Fashion Historian -- interjected. “I don’t remember asking to be put on this. . . . this _boat_ with a bunch of strangers!”

“Masako has a point,” Eio agreed. Somewhere between the last time I’d glimpsed at him and now, he too had moved over to the front. “Shiroari, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to believe it , but it seems --”

“What the hell?” 

Chūhei stormed over to where the little bear was, rolling up his sleeves. Monokuma didn’t move -- no, he didn’t even _react_. 

“Listen,” Chūhei pointed a trembling finger at Monokuma. “I don’t know who the hell’s controlling you, bear, but this is _not_ funny. Do -- Do you have any idea what this represents?”

“Huuuuh? Are you talking about that little thing forty years ago?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Excuse me?” The green-haired girl piped up. A pang of empathy hit me -- her grey eyes were spilling with tears. “That ‘little thing’ killed my grandpa! It . . . “ She hesitated, shrinking back into her seat. “It killed _millions!_ ”

“This is one sick joke,” Eiji muttered. 

“Lemme _at ‘em_!” Ryuu shouted. Kuuto’s eyes flashed; he stood up quickly, holding him back from attacking. 

“Get me _off_ this smelly boat!” the Ultimate Fashion Historian exclaimed. “My fur coat’s going to get ruined!”

“This isn’t good,” Eio whispered in my ear. His skin had turned a ghostly shade of white-- I suppose even someone like him felt afraid every once in a while. Still, he cleared his throat. “Everyone . . . everyone, please, calm down!”

“Calm?!” Leon repeated. His voice had gone up by at least five octaves. “How can I stay _calm_?! We’re all gonna die!”

“We’re not gonna die,” Yui chastised. 

“Yeah, _right_.” One of the quieter students, a girl whose grey hair was tied neatly into a bun, scoffed. “I’m sure we’ll just waltz out of here without a scratch.”

“I love your enthusiasm, Kazue!” The pigtailed girl exclaimed. “See? We’ll all make it out okay! You have the Ultimate Social Media Influencer’s word for it!”

“I _knew_ you looked familiar!” Ryuu snapped his fingers, briefly forgetting how much he wanted to pummel Monokuma. “You’re Adzumi Amano!” 

“Omigod, I didn’t think anyone would recognize me!” Adzumi gasped. “I got my hair dyed and everything!”

“How can we not recognize your face?” Kuuto gaped. “I’m a huge fan--”

“Can I get your autograph?” Ryuu cut in. 

“You guuuuuys!” The Ultimate Social Media Influencer gushed, placing both hands on her cheeks. “Of course I will! I just need to find my -- “

“ -- Glitter unicorn pen!” The three of them had said this at the same time. In that moment, I witnessed something truly remarkable; Kuuto, Ryuu, and Adzumi were looking at one another as if they’d gained some sort of understanding of each other . . . I felt the odd urge to join them --

“All right, enough about her, more about me!” I could hear Monokuma’s voice . . . somewhere. I turned my head, trying to find out where he was. He sounded close--

“Ey!” A white claw swiped in front of my face; I hissed through my teeth, narrowly avoiding it. “Did I _say_ you could move, chair?”

“Pardon?” I blurted out. Another paw, this one black, swiped at me again. 

“You heard me, Shiroari!” Monokuma shouted. “Hold _still_!”

_Of course. The stupid bear was using my head as a chair._

“Is everyone paying attention?”

All around me, the group nodded. Perhaps they were too dumbfounded by the absurdity of this situation. I knew Momoko was -- she had picked up a book. I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from her as possible before she could throw it at me. 

“Good!” Monokuma sounded quite pleased. “Now then, forty years ago, there was a dreadful, _dreadful_ tragedy at the very school you’re all attending. Does anyone know what that tragedy was?”

Over half the class raised their hands. 

“Excellent, excellent! Yes, the Tragedy really needs no introduction, does it? Puhuhuhu!” Monokuma laughed into his paws. “The Tragedy of 2008, which turned the world upside-down, topsy-turvy, and sent it on a one-way trip to the depths of despair! Oh, the _humanity_! Wars were started for the sake of war, people killed for the sake of killing, and to top it all off, a super-special primetime event was played 24/7! Can any one of you recall what that was?”

“I can answer this.” A turquoise-haired boy raised his hand, grinning. “Easy peasy. It was this thing called a ‘killing game’, was it?”

“I wouldn't act so cocky,” Eio warned. 

“Boo, Eio, you're so _bossy_!” Monokuma kicked the top of my head; I flinched. “Yes, Hisoka over there is right! There were _two_ killing games! _Dos juegos de muerte_! Not too shabby for just one pretty girl!”

“You’re not talking about--” The sobbing girl poked her head up. Through her green hair, I could see that all hope had left her eyes. 

“That's right, Junyou!” Monokuma’s weight had lifted off of me; he now leapt onto Yui’s head. The Ultimate Tarot Reader had gone pale. “The one, the only _Junko Enoshima!_ Ultimate Despair, queen of style, and, may I add, the biggest genius the world has ever seen.”

“But she was defeated, wasn't she?” The turquoise-haired boy continued. “By the Ultimate Hope, Makoto Naegi.”

“Watch it, Hisoka,” Monokuma growled. “We don't say that name on this boat.”

Hisoka jabbed a single finger at the bear’s chest, a smirk curled across his face. “Don't worry, I won't. I mean, _I’m_ the new Ultimate Hope, after all.”

Adzumi, Kuuto, and Ryuu began whispering amongst each other. The grey-haired girl muttered “oh, brother”, covering her mouth with a face mask. Monokuma himself looked baffled -- 

Then he laughed. 

“Ahahahahaha! The Ultimate Hope? _You_?”

“Yes,” Hisoka said, puffing out his chest. “I knew as soon as I got accepted as the Ultimate Lucky Student --”

“ _Ultimate Hope!”_ Monokuma hooted, rolling off of Yui’s head. “That's a good one!”

“No, I’m serious! Listen to me!” Hisoka placed his hands on his hips. “The first lucky student, Makoto Naegi, was the Ultimate Hope! The other, Nagito Komaeda -- “

“--Was a crazed, hope-obsessed maniac,” the masked girl pointed out. 

Hisoka’s face went quite red. 

“Listen, I’m the protagonist!” he insisted. “And I can stop this bear in his tracks!”

“Can you, now?” Monokuma chortled. “I’d love to see it.”

“Hell yeah you will,” the Ultimate Lucky Student folded his arms, looking proud of himself. "If Naegi could, you bet your ass that _I_ can too."

I suddenly felt rather uneasy. Was this guy serious? He couldn't possibly start babbling about hope at a time like this. 

_Jeez,_ I thought, shoving my hands into my pockets. _He's gonna get himself in trouble._

“A-hem! Annnnyways, I’m sure by now that all of you know what's going on!” Monokuma exclaimed. “It's been way, way, way, way, _way_ too long since we've had ourselves a killing game! And we’ve got --” He began counting under his breath. “Yes, _sixteen_ bright and cheery faces just waiting to get overwhelmed with despair!”

“ _NO!”_ Junyou crumpled over in her chair. “No, no, no, this can't be happening--”

“You'll be okay,” a blonde-haired male said reassuringly. He rushed to her side, a look of concern on his face. 

“Will you, though?” Monokuma pressed. Junyou whimpered. “Will you _really_? I’m expecting you kiddos to have one dead body by the end of the week.”

“Or what?” Momoko challenged. “What're you gonna do?”

“And what's in it for us?” Masako raised a freshly-manicured hand. 

Momoko whipped her head around so fast, I was surprised she hadn’t snapped her neck. Her glare shot through the Ultimate Fashion Historian, daring her to say another word. Masako merely ignored her. 

Regardless, Monokuma chuckled. 

“I’m glad you asked! It's simple, really -- “ He leapt onto the couch he appeared behind. “If you kill someone and don't get caught, you're free to leave this Killing Cruise. But if there isn't any body in the next week,” He clenched a single, clawed paw. “Let's just say I could _really_ use some new scratching posts.”

The room temperature suddenly dropped by a few degrees. I wanted desperately to throw up -- no, to _run_. Run out of this crazy place and into the comfort of my bed. 

_Bed!_ I thought desperately. _Yes, of course! This all has to be a dream! I can just run!_

I willed myself to move -- my feet felt like cement, but I still gathered my strength, just enough to run --

The door was so close. I could just make out the mermaids carved onto it. It was a gorgeous carving . . . one I never thought my imagination could come up with --

A white paw. A stinging sensation. I stopped in my tracks, touching the spot where the stinging had come from. My vision was fading, in and out --

“TERMITE!”

No, it definitely _stung._ I continued to prod at my left cheek, where the stinging came from. 

Before I knew it, I was on the floor. Or was I always on the floor? It felt so much more natural to be up here than it had up there. 

Was I up? Was I on the ceiling? It certainly seemed so. I looked at the many faces staring up at me -- or was it down? -- all of them looking levels of concerned.

Chūhei reached down -- down? Up? Did it even matter? -- towards me, extending his arms. Dazed, I mimicked him, allowing him to pull me so I was upright. 

“Hold him still, Chūhei --” I could hear Momoko say. 

“I’m TRYING! Eio, do you need those stupid bandages?”

“Not really, they're just for show--”

“Give one of them to me.”

“Chūhei--”

“GIVE IT!” Chūhei demanded, shaking me.

I groaned. 

“Puhuhuhu --” There it was again, that nails-on-a-chalkboard voice. “Looks like Shiroari over there wanted to escape! Stupid Agata, you can't run from a killing game!”

A surge of anger charged through me. I lunged in the direction of Monokuma’s voice, pointing an accusing finger. 

“I’b godda stig by glasses where the sub don’ shibe!” I spat out. 

“Reeeaaaally?” The stupid bear wouldn't stop talking! Why couldn't Leon just run it through with a baseball bat? Was I even thinking of the right Leon?

“I’d love to see that!” Monokuma howled.

“Go choge od a--”

“Whoa, whoa!”

Chūhei yanked me away from the black-and-white blur that was Monokuma. “What the hell?”

“Just sit him down,” an annoyed female voice cut in. Chūhei obliged, pushing me down into a chair. 

A pair of eyes, each of a different color, found their way to my face. There was an entrancing quality to each of them; one of them was brown, the other green. Both of them were zeroed in on the spot where Monokuma had scratched me, their focus unyielding.

“Well, at least his eye didn't fall out,” she said matter-of-factly, pushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “Eiji,” From the corner of my eye, the boy holding the plant stood to attention. “Can you get me some disinfectant?”

“Will that even do anything?” Eiji muttered. 

The girl shot him a look. 

“What-a-stupid-question”, her eyes said. 

Eiji seemed to take this as enough of an answer; he scurried away, returning with a tiny bottle. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” the girl asked, taking the bottle from Eiji. 

“Three,” I wheezed. 

“That's right.” 

Despite myself, my eyes fell down to the nametag on her chest. 

_Kazue Makiguchi. Super High School Level Forensic Nurse._

That was at least _somewhat_ encouraging. Kazue worked quickly; I was sure I was there for only a minute before she patted me on the back. 

“That should hold up for now,” she said. I noticed how sharp her voice was -- it was as if her voice itself was a knife. “If Monokuma’ll allow it, I can give him some more extensive care later.”

“Huh?” Monokuma poked his head up, his expression unchanging. “Oh. Right. You're all dismissed. Let's hope that little demonstration will remind you of what I’ll do when you escape.”

“Hmph, like that could happen to me,” I could hear Hisoka say. 

Kazue scoffed. 

“It's people with that attitude who end up in the E.R.,” she grumbled, hoisting me up. “Come on. You're lucky that the wound isn't that deep. Junyou,” she added, stopping by the green-haired girl. Junyou’s face was streaked with tears; I couldn't help but feel a sense of pity for her. “That's your name, right? Junyou Furutani?”

“Ye-Yes,” Junyou croaked. She held her letterman jacket closer to herself--hiding a pale blue sundress. 

“I have something in my room that's good for stress,” Kazue said. I didn't know how someone was able to sound so calm in a situation like this. “Just mix it with water and you'll feel much better.” 

Junyou merely nodded. I felt a bit awkward walking next to her -- she didn't look me in the eye. Maybe it was just the discussion earlier that'd set her off . . . not like I could blame her. Still, the silence was starting to become unbearable. I cleared my throat awkwardly, attempting to address her. 

“Soooo...”

“So,” Junyou repeated. “What was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” I blurted. So many things had happened in the last hour, it was hard to keep track of what was up and what was down. 

“That stunt of yours,” she clarified. “What made you think it'd work?”

“I--” A lump rose in my throat; I inclined my shoulders into a half-shrug, looking away. “I dunno. I just . . . it was a reflex.”

“Hmph.” Junyou scoffed. “Do you know what I think, Shiroari?”

“No, what?”

“I think that was selfish of you.”

Once again, I fell silent. Junyou waited for a response -- when she didn’t get one, she too fell silent. Maybe she just didn’t want to push it, I thought, trying subtly to see what her talent was. Junyou noticed this; she pulled her jacket away, hiding the nametag. 

“You could just ask.”

“Oh.” My face went warm. “Uh . . . sorry. What’s your talent?”

“Ultimate Cheerleader.” The way she said this was so rehearsed, as if she’d practiced it in front of the mirror hundreds of times. “I mean, people call me the ‘Ultimate’ at it, but if it weren't for my team, I wouldn't have made it this far. _That's_ why I think you were selfish,” She rounded on me. “When we walked through that door, we all became a team.”

“Hmm.” I tilted my head up to the ceiling. I supposed that was one way of thinking of it. I hummed, tapping my chin. “What about Eiji?”

“Wha --” Junyou’s skin seemed to crawl just at the mention of him; she shivered, hugging herself. “Urgh. I can _tolerate_ him, as long as he keeps his disgusting mushrooms far away.”

“Sooo, you don't like him?”

“No!” The Ultimate Cheerleader exclaimed. She had gone beet red. “I can _work_ with him, he's just so ew! Masako told me that he has athlete’s foot . . . and if he passes it onto me . . . “ 

“He doesn't have athlete’s foot,” Kazue groaned. “Don't be silly.”

“My career will be over, Kazue!” Junyou said, tugging at her hair. Her nose had scrunched up in disgust. “Urghh. . . you gotta promise to examine him thoroughly. _Tho-rough-ly_!”

“If it'll keep you out of my hair. Agata, sit down.” 

We had arrived at Kazue’s room. I followed her instructions, sitting back on her bed. It seemed that in the few short hours she'd been here, she'd already set up camp.

“Damn ship doesn't even have a medic’s bay,” Kazue grumbled, pulling off her mask and disposing of it. She replaced it with another, squirting a generous amount of hand sanitizer on her hands. “Listen, because of that stupid decision, I need you two to spread the word that if anyone feels injured or sick, they go here.”

“But what if you die?” I pointed out. Kazue shrugged, handing a small bottle over to Junyou. 

“Take this. It's a magnesium supplement. It's good for anxiety and depression. And get out of here so we can get some privacy,” she instructed. Once Junyou was gone, she continued, “That's a risk I’m willing to take. Now hold still -- this will be a while.”

Kazue wasn't wrong; by the time she'd finished, the sun was just starting to set. She constantly checked in on me, occasionally taking a good look at my wound. “That's going to leave a scar,” she pointed out. “You're lucky you didn't go blind from the incident, but I’d keep that bandage on for at least six more weeks.”

“Six _weeks?!”_ I nearly choked on my own spit. 

“Injuries take time to heal,” Kazue shrugged. “Think of it this way, the class idiots will think of you as a ‘super cool mob boss’.”

I immediately thought of Ryuu. 

“I’d skip out on any activities tonight,” the nurse warned. “You've already pissed Monokuma off enough today, I don't want to have to cure your right eye as well.”

“Er. Right. Guess it's a no on the ghost hunt, then.”

“I’m afraid so.” Kazue gave me a sympathetic grin. “Do you want me to let Ryuu and Kuuto know?”

“Yeah, that'd be amazing.” I returned the smile. “Thanks, Kazue.”

“No problem, One-Eyed Termite.” She leaned against the doorway as I left. “You be careful out there.”

“I will.”

My room wasn't as close to Kazue’s as I would've liked. I groaned internally, following the pathway along to my door. It was at least reassuring knowing the faces behind these nameplates; it took a massive weight off my shoulders. I was only a door away from Chūhei; I smiled to myself, imagining him grumbling to himself in there. 

“Shiroari!”

Just as I was about to open the door, Eio bounded up to me. He was holding up his yukata as he ran, only releasing it when he gripped onto my shoulders. 

That same old smile found its way to his face. “Oh, good,” he said brightly. “So Makiguchi did fix you up, then.”

“Yeah, she did.” I wriggled my way out of his arms. Eio’s smile barely twitched. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Uhh . . .” I chewed on the inside of my lip. Why did he smile all the time? “Yeah. Why?”

“I was looking up some hypnotism methods to ease the pain.” Eio withdrew a watch from his pocket. He swung it like a pendulum before yo-yoing it back into his palm. “If it still hurts, I’d be willing to use it on you for the night.”

How thoughtful of him, I thought, the tension in my shoulders easing. The offer was tempting, but there was still a shred of doubt in my mind. 

“Um . . . no thanks,” I muttered. “I’m not really comfortable with getting hypnotized. Better to stick with Tylenol, right?”

“Yeah, you're right about that.” Eio nodded, his expression pensive. “Still, if you need it, I’m just across the hall. That stuff doesn't always block out all the pain.”

“It’ll work enough,” I insisted. “But thank you.”

As soon as Eio turned his back, I darted into my room. I was starving, but none of that even mattered. All I wanted to do was sleep, hope to whatever was watching me that I’d wake up and this was all a dream. 

_Was this it for me?_ I wondered, clasping my hands over my chest. Was I just going to die here, or watch my friends get plucked off one by one? What was the worse option?

I rolled onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe it was better for me to sleep. Forget this ever happened. I could slip off into the land of dreams, where everything was perfectly okay. 

If only that held true for the waking world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count : 1003
> 
> Pages : 2.9


End file.
